


Oath of the Mask Makers (temporary title)

by Effenay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Complex relationships, F/M, Inspired by Synchronicity vocaloid, Mask makers - Freeform, Masquerade society, Renaissance artist, War Veteran, masquerades
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effenay/pseuds/Effenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A soldier, a travelling artist and a mask maker seeking for freedom from the society that bound its people to the restricting laws between the nobles and the average individuals. Story is subject to change as well as this summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Soldier, the Nomad Artist and the Mask Maker

**Author's Note:**

> A 2 year old story that I've never touched for a looong time. Archiving it as unfinished now but may or may not continue this depending on the amount of views I get. Oh well. Leave a comment if you are interested.

It was going to be a clear day; the brightest summer one could ever imagine. The wind was cool and the sun was hot. Usually, weather like this sets one into a good mood. It didn't seem the case with Ezra.

Ezra took the risk of making each day count on his pursuit. Hunting and preying on both man and beast. For a while, he lived his life without a doubt, believing that the world was as it should remain the way he sees it to be. Wars come, he fought them all. Despite the many claims of war changing men, Ezra remained the same. He took every action as something that is necessary, and not once has he ever been fazed by it. For as long as his beloved sister remained, that was the only thing that balanced his mind.

That was years ago. After the loss of his sister, Ezra sought for any clues of his sister's disappearance. Years of searching relentlessly became the only goal he had left in mind. He is twenty now.

"Ezra," Pire shook him by the arm. "Ezra, it is morning."

"Pire, how long have we been travelling together now," Ezra mumbled to Pire.

"Three years," the short-haired girl replied with a blush.

"I'm surprised you keep score," Ezra chuckled.

"Don't laugh at me," Pire flustered, "I keep track because you kept asking me."

Ezra laughed heartily. He hasn't done that in a long time since his sister's disappearance. Perhaps it was because of Pire. Pire had been there for him since the day they met. To him, Pire was his salvation and support. They travelled together for a while now. They were together long enough to proclaim their love for each other. Ezra wanted it to remain that way.

"Pire," Ezra stretched out his hand to the girl's sleeve, "Do you love me?"

"W-what a ridiculous question for you to ask!" Pire reddened, appeared as though sun-burnt.

"It is not ridiculous," Ezra insisted. "Do you?"

"Don't ask these kinds of questions," Pire spun around to the other direction.

Ezra felt a lump of disappointment in his heart. _Surely,_ he thought, _did I not imagine things when you showed me?_

"That's very mean of you," Ezra said glumly. "Then was it a lie that you took my hand and not say that is accepting my feelings?"

"It's not that!" Pire turned to Ezra, her face reddened, her cheeks puffed and her lips pursed.

Before Ezra realised what was coming, the girl's chapped lips pecked at Ezra's forehead. Ezra flushed with a sudden fever. Pire anxiously pouted as she avoided his eyes.

"Don't make me say it," Pire finally said. "It's far too embarrassing for me to say it."

Ezra grabbed Pire and hugged her by the neck. His emotions were no doubt unstable for him to think. Pire held him back. Ezra squeezed her.

"Words will ruin the feeling," Pire's muffled voice said; "It can't be defined. But, yes, I do."

Ezra smiled and patted her head.

“Um, Ezra,” Pire added. “You can let go now.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ezra released Pire from his arms. Her warmth remained in his arms.

Pire laughed out of embarrassment. Ezra smiled the same way. He looked to the direction of the sky, the sun rising out into the distance. His heart then sank at the sight of the purple sky.

 _This day too, was just like that time,_ Ezra thought sadly, _this melancholic feeling, reminds me of her._

“Ezra?” Pire asked cautiously.

“The sky was just like this, when she was waiting for me,” Ezra spoke with a deep thought, “The first time I came home from the war, the sky was just like this sky.”

Ezra stood up and stretched his limbs. Pire stood up and took his hand. “I promise,” Pire began, “I promise you that we will see this thing through. We will find her, Ezra, I promise.”

“You know that is a promise you cannot keep,” Ezra said.

“I know,” Pire nodded.

The two companions were on the top of a hill, for it was easier for the two to see an overview of the entire land. Their journey has scarcely begun, since there was no lead on where Ezra’s sister had gone. There was no clue or trace of her in the entire kingdom, only a memory of her disappearance.

“Such a strange name, Pire,” Ezra finally spoke, disrupting his own thoughts before it grew bitter, “Why did your parents call you that?”

“My family thought I were a boy until I came out, believing that I would become a friar someday,” Pire bluntly responded. “But ‘Pire the Artist’; well, at least many kings would presume that I am an aging man. That way, they will not judge me by what I am, but by the skill of my work.”

“That’s very much like you, I suppose,” Ezra remarked.

“What do you mean by that?” Pire asked.

“It’s just as I said,” Ezra added.

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

***

A tailor remains within the shadows of his house, sewing, cutting, embroidering fabric for the sake of earning his keep. Gant opened his window, only to see iron bars that never ceased in spoiling his view. How long has it been since he saw himself free from iron bars? Or free from the guards that lurk at the entrance of the stairs? _Even tailors leave their homes during the time of the festival,_ Gant grumbled, _or that they would leave their homes for the sake of buying bread._

“Excuse me?” the tailor knocked on his own door. “I think its better that I buy my supplies now; the day is still young, and I have no food to eat.”

The door creaked open, allowing Gant to leave the room.

“Remember tailor, remember that you are a valuable asset to the kingdom,” the guard warned Gant.

Gant nodded his shaggy head. The floor boards creaked with every step down the stairway. Grabbing his coat from the coat pegs, Gant left the high towered-house and counted his wages on the way to his supplier.

Despite the early morn, there were already a handful of citizens who were opening up their businesses.

“Good morning, Gant,” the shoe-maker hollered.

“Same to you,” Gant greeted back.

A few others greeted him the same way, Gant smiled at his greeting. It was often said that tailors were the most known in many kingdoms, and yet mask makers were the most notorious. It wasn’t a surprise, no doubt; Mask makers were fated to work as slaves for the monarchs, crafting masks for every individual of the entirety of the kingdom for the sake of hiding the monarchs during the times of crisis.

By the time Gant reached the master weaver’s shop, the door flung open before he could reach the door.

“Oh,” the elderly woman scuffled. “Gant, I was getting worried that you wouldn’t be able to come here at all.”

“Mistress Weaver Bea, I wouldn’t dare to do that,” Gant nodded as he took the bundle of fabric from the elderly woman’s hands.

“Come in Gant, I haven’t seen you for a month,” Bea beckoned him.

“If you insist,” Gant smiled and entered the shop. The first thing he saw was the warp-weight loom that stood against the wall; beside it were looms of different kinds, ranging from the smallest imaginable to the largest that took most of the space.

“Miss Bea, how on earth do you survive meddling with these odd contraptions?” Gant said with clear amusement.

“A labour of love, I suppose,” the woman smiled. “I am still looking forward into seeing my apprentice come back to me and take over the business.”

“My nephew will be a fine man by the time he comes home,” Gant agreed.

“How are things in the castle?” Bea’s tone darkened with worry. “They haven’t been feeding you properly, haven’t they?”

Gant sighed, “It is not that they worked me to death,” he lied, “ever since they took me in, I have been delving into my work, and that the thought of hunger didn’t faze me.”

Despite his lie, there was some truth to what he had said; for the guards would sometimes lock him inside, motivating the poor, hungry tailor to craft his works for days without food. By the time he finished his piece, he was able to feast with the nobles. An irony really, by the fact that many presumed he was living a dream.

“Is that so?” Bea raised a brow. “Either way, you look thinner than a needle, look at you! You look as though you haven’t eaten in months! Come have breakfast with me.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Bea, you are a saint,” Gant praised. “I don’t know how long I have been depriving myself from a glorious meal.”

“I’m glad,” Bea gave a satisfied nod. “Eat with your heart’s content.”

Gant sat by the table, consuming the bread and soup offered like a hungry wolf.

Bea remained silent for a while, and finally said; “There are rumours that say that there have been mask makers attempting to escape.”

Gant stopped chewing his loaf and swallowed. He drank the cup of water and said; “Is that so?”

“These are dangerous times for mask makers,” Bea gravely said. “I later found out that your friend; Laurence was caught helping a mask maker escape.”

“No,” Gant gaped, “Laurence too? Who was this mask maker, Miss Bea?”

“A woman,” Bea sighed despairingly. “A seventeen year-old woman to be precise; Laurence probably felt responsible for a woman who was fleeing for her life. You know how Laurence is; he feels responsible when it came to women, or any female for that matter.”

Gant gave out a frustrated sigh and scratched his head. “That fool. May it be a thief or some rebellious youth, but it had to be a mask maker.”

“Laurence is after all in need of a woman in company,” Bea added.

“What a murderous day, after hearing that,” Gant scoffed at the news.

“It is better to know what is going on, than to be ignorant about it,” Bea tapped Gant’s shoulder. “I worry about you and Laurence like my own sons; and by that, I mean that I love you both like my own. So therefore, I won’t spare you from the truth.”

“I know,” Gant said and finished the last loaf of bread.

By the time Gant finished, he left the shop, carrying a bundle of fabric, tucked under his arm. He walked up to the bakery and bought himself enough bread for him to survive for two weeks if he rationed carefully. The morning brightened, the wind billowed and many citizens had begun to move.

Gant hastened to the high towered-house and shut the door. Two guards offered a hand on the fabric as he climbed the stairs. By the time he reached to his work room, the guards handed over his materials and shut the door. Sighing at the thought of having to remain in his workroom for a long period of time, Gant slumped to his chair and stared at the iron-barred window.

“This is a price to pay,” Gant whispered. “Mask makers, tailors; what difference do they make?”

There was a knock on the door; a paper was then slipped underneath it. _Another request,_ Gant mumbled to himself while he walked towards the door. The tailor picked the slip of paper and read the contents.

Gant then walked up to the corner of the room, and lifted the floorboard to reveal a cavity under the wood, filled with discarded masks; embellished with jewels fabrics and precious stones.

A cursed occupation; tailor by day, a mask maker by night. Gant knew that there were other mask makers who shared the same fate. He often wondered if he was the only mask maker left in the kingdom.

 _I hope I am not the only one left,_ Gant initially thought, only to conclude; _No, it is better that I would be the last. That way, there will be no other makers left in the country._


	2. Chapter 2

Ezra sat down at the edge of the fountain, exhausted after the climb down the slope; Pire on the other hand, didn’t hesitate on pulling out her hand-bound book that was made up of yellowing pages.

“How do you do that?” Ezra asked, clearly amused. “Pull out a canvas and start sketching your heart away as though the climb down didn’t faze you?”

“Persistence and inspiration,” Pire answered highly, “These are the two requirements to forget your fatigue. Now, I need my silence because I need to sketch this before I lose it.”

Ezra opened his mouth, only to close it at the sight of Pire’s determined look on her face. She had already become engrossed in her work. Ezra saw the back of the pencil wiggling in Pire’s hand, knowing it was futile to talk to her now.

“So are there any leads?” Pire finally asked as she rubbed the surface of the page with her finger.

“No,” Ezra shook his head. “Not in the slightest. The only thing I could think of is that she might have been kidnapped for prostitution.”

“Mmm,” Pire mumbled, “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

“You are not paying much of a thought about what I just said, are you?” Ezra said cynically. “You’re too engrossed with your work that you don’t seem to care at all.”

“I do care,” Pire said in a mutter, her eyes focused on the page.

“You don’t sound like you do,” Ezra murmured.

“I’m multitasking,” Pire insisted, despite her inattentive façade, “I can understand your concern, after all, rumours spread of such places that lurk in the cavities of the cities. Prostitution; well, I doubt your sister could have ended there.”

“How are you so sure of yourself, that this was going to be the case,” Ezra gave a dubious look.

“I am only stating the possibility,” Pire explained. “I’ve been here and back in all four territories, so I am only speculating based on my experience around the entirety of this land.”

“Somehow, that makes me feel less assured,” Ezra said sourly.

“Don’t be so upset, just because my eyes are not on you,” Pire nonchalantly said, “I am almost finished.”

“Girls your age ought to show some respect,” Ezra said, as he furrowed his brow, “It’s rude to not have eye-contact with the person you are speaking to. It makes others feel less important.”

Pire turned to Ezra as the two met with their eyes for a brief moment. A second after, Both Ezra and Pire reddened.

“It isn’t easy if it is you,” she said, pressing her face onto the page.

“… I suppose,” Ezra agreed at this point, as he sheepishly turned the other way.

A moment of silence followed as the crowds gradually emerge from their homes; pacing back and forth into the rural areas. Ezra observed the crowd, noticing the palace guards on every corner of the area.

“I often wonder,” Ezra began, “This entire land was my home for twenty-years, and yet, not once have I ever understood why all who work in the palace are made to wear masks.”

“Oh, that,” Pire chuckled, “There was once a tale that tells of a Queen who gave birth to a son. The son fell in love with a beautiful maid, who was of course, of common birth. The Royals were no doubt upset of this fact that they decided to have all who worked in the castle wear masks for as long as they serve the royals to avoid this ‘tragedy’ as what they call it. A silly thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s not silly,” Ezra responded, “after hearing that, I think that is quite practical, as far as I am concerned. Royals should marry a royal. Commoners should marry a commoner. In the practical side; commoners don’t understand the burden of politics, hence, it is best that they should marry those of noble birth.”

“How single-minded of you,” Pire said in clear disgust.

“It is the truth,” Ezra insisted. “So how does a girl, who is at least 4 years younger than me, know such things?”

“Try visiting all of the territories,” Pire suggested, “I tell you, once you leave your hometown, you’d be able to see things in a different perspective.”

Ezra smiled for a brief moment to Pire, and then averted his gaze to the crowds.

“Ezra,” Pire stood up, “where should we start searching?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra answered.

“Don’t give me that,” Pire nudged him by the arm. “Where was the last place you’ve seen her?”

Ezra’s gaze fell to the floor as he rested his head on clasped hands. “I’ve been there before,” Ezra said gravely. “I wasn’t able to find a trace of her in that place.”

“… Where exactly is this place,” Pire slowly asked.

“… The tailor’s shop,” Ezra answered. “To be precise, in one of Kellade kingdom’s finest master weaver and tailor shop. Every time I asked for any witnesses, they dismissed me as though I was a nothing more than a commoner, stirring up some kind of trouble.”

The crowds cheered from a distance, some whistled, some hooted, some laughed as spectators grew rapidly. Ezra stood up quickly, he suddenly felt the strain of him legs pang at his calves. He cursed at the pain and sat down once more. Pire on the other hand seemed to be less concerned of Ezra, as she stared out onto the growing crowd.

“A festival?” Pire asked.

“I wouldn’t care less of it,” Ezra muttered.

“How are you holding up?” Pire asked, who seemingly noticed Ezra’s exhausted state.

Ezra didn’t reply.


End file.
